Little Deaths in Musical Beds
by RetteMitch
Summary: JackOC. It's well known that Jack's fate is to die in the shoot out, but could that be changed by one girl with a very messed up home?


I kicked the rock across the street, tucking my hands deeper into my pockets for warmth, and watching my breath rise in the air. My hair was itchy at the base of my neck where my coat pressed to it, and I wished I had thrown it up into a pony tail. I kicked the rock once more and caught sight of my house, the porch light on. Of course, Emily had left it on. She never knew what time I was going to be home, and yet she still wasted the energy to turn that light on. Every night. I always turned it on when I got home, if I got home. I looked ahead of my house and saw a tall, thin boy smoking outside of his, his blonde hair stuck in every direction. I wasn't sure, but he looked vaguely familiar, sort of like the boy Jack Mercer who used to live in that house, but he'd been gone for a little while, touring with his band. It struck me then that Evelyn Mercer, the kind elderly foster mother living next door to me, had died a few days before in a gang shooting. Maybe it was Jack, back for the funeral. So I raised my voice a little, standing in front of my house.

"Jack?"

He dropped the cigarette and turned to me, squinting, unable to see my face in the dark. I lowered my hood, letting my long curly reddish-brown hair cascade down, hoping it would help him remember, and it worked, "Taylor?"

I smiled, it definitely was Jack, "Hey! You're back!" I ran up to him, hugging him. We'd run with the same crowd in school. Now he was off with his band and I was working full time in a local nursing home, we were both 20.

He nodded, hugging me back gently.

"I'm so sorry about your Mom. She was wonderful."

He nodded once again, obviously very upset, "When is the funeral?"

"Tomorrow." he said, and I noticed that his amazingly deep voice had gotten even deeper.

"God, Jack, you look...older..."

He chuckled a little, "So do you. Are those...scrubs?" he gestured to my pants, and I laughed with him.

"I work over at the nursing home. Wiping up old people shit. Pays, though."

He smiled, "How's Emily?"

I shrugged, "She still... oh, she's fine."

He eyed my strangely, but said nothing, "It's weird, you know? Being in Mom's house alone."

My eyes widened, "You're alone in there?"

He nodded once more, looking up at the hollow house.

I shook my head, "Then stay with us. Or, I'll stay with you. You shouldn't be alone, really. Where's Bobby? Or Angel? Wait, why not stay with Jeremiah?"

He shrugged, "He asked, but I said no. He's got other things to worry about. Angel and Bobby... I have no idea. I don't know if Bobby will show, Angel will probably come tomorrow."

"Well, I don't want you to stay alone. I know we haven't seen each other in a couple years... I came to one of your shows."

He looked up at me, from the spot in the pavement he had been focusing on, "You did? Why didn't you say hi?"

I smiled, "There were lots of girls. I figured if you ever came back to town, I'd tell you how great the show was. You're really good, you know."

He laughed, scratching at the back of his head, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," I touched his arm, "let me get a few things out of my house and I'll be over in a minute, OK?"

He laughed, "Really, you don't..."

"Shut the fuck up, Jack. I'm doing it." I smiled, and he just shook his head before walking into his house. Emily was asleep, probably with a stranger, when I came inside. I ran up to my room and threw a few things into a small bag I used for work. It was weird to me that Jack Mercer was back in town, and even more weird that we were picking up right where we had left off...almost.

Before he had left, I'd confessed to him how much I loved him, and he'd told me he would try to keep in contact. Of course, I'd never heard from him again, but that was OK. I left a note for Emily on the kitchen table that she could call me if she needed me, but I knew she wouldn't. The one thing that she did for me was leave that light on. When I got to Jack's he was in the upstairs bathroom, brushing his teeth.

"How long have you been working at the nursing home?" he asked as he sat on his bed, and I leaned my back against the floor.

"Since senior year, I guess."

"You graduated, then?" He asked. Jack had left before the end of senior year to pursue his music.

I nodded, "College wasn't for me, though. I make enough to live on at the nursing home, and sometimes I actually enjoy it."

"What does Emily do, then?"

I stiffened a little, "Well, for money she waitresses... she's home a lot, though."

He sat up, putting a hand on my shoulder, "That's... it?"

I nodded, and he seemed to accept it–for then at least–then sat back. We talked about what we had been doing for a long time, and eventually I sat up next to him on the bed while he laid down, after turning out the light.

"Lay down." he whispered, putting a hand on my hip, "Do you remember what you said to me, before I left?"

I swallowed loudly, facing away from him as I laid down, then nodded.

"I didn't forget it." he said.

"Neither did I. But don't worry about that right now, OK? You've got more important things to think about."

He pressed his face to my neck, not kissing, more like for comfort, and breathed in heavily. I felt something wet, and knew he was crying. Of course he was–he wasn't invincible, and he was the baby brother, here without the rest of his brothers. I prayed Bobby would show up tomorrow, I knew Jack had always looked up to him for some odd reason. I flipped over and pulled Jack to me, cradling his head against my chest, and he cried himself to sleep as I rubbed his back. I knew it was a moment he would have shared with no one else outside of his family, and it gave me a sick sort of hope that there was something between us after these years.


End file.
